


Lips That Shame (The Red, Red Rose)

by idoltina



Series: Prompt Fills: Once Upon a Time [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Cunnilingus, F/F, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:52:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Dark One away on a visit to another realm, Belle and Regina spend an evening enjoying one another’s company. But Belle, it seems, has plans of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lips That Shame (The Red, Red Rose)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gotatheory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotatheory/gifts).



> **Warnings:** adult language, allusions to marital rape, attempted murder, blood, infidelity, references to previous canonical abuse and character death, sexual situations
> 
> Prompt fill for the [one million words extravaganza](http://idoltina.tumblr.com/post/146783328680/earlier-this-month-i-finally-sans-anything-from): based on the headcanon found in [this post](http://idoltina.tumblr.com/post/142572918032/belle-for-the-character-meme) [UA fic in which the events of canon in the Enchanted Forest are generally the same, but Belle is born earlier in the timeline -- placing her roughly around Regina’s age -- and is already working as Rumple’s maid when Regina begins her lessons].

Regina looks different in sleep.

Most people do, Belle supposes; it’s not as if she’s watched many people sleep in her short life so far. Mother had looked _beautiful_ in her sleep, chest rising and falling in the summer sun of the gardens as the edges of her books would slip farther and farther away, her fingers growing slack. But even with precious little experience outside of her mother, Belle has seen enough people sleep to know the way that muscles relax, the way that each line and crease in a person’s face smooths and softens into something more delicate. She knows the steady rise and fall of breath in one’s chest, has seen it slow down to the gentlest of rhythms and matched it herself on more than one occasion. With slumber comes the slow, systematic dismantling of armor and destruction of walls, and each soul is left out in the open and exposed -- vulnerable.

The Dark One, Belle has noticed, does not sleep.

But Regina _does_ , and with each passing opportunity Belle has to observe Regina in her sleep, she finds there are always new things to discover and learn. Gone are the worrisome wrinkles that Regina wears in her waking hours, eyes gentle and lax and not at all narrowed in discerning darkness. Her fingers uncurl and go limp, every trace of anxiety and anger absent. And -- on such occasions as this -- more of Regina’s armor comes down, although Belle supposes it’s not sleep that claims that honor so much as herself. She’s the one who unravels every twisting curl and braid of Regina’s hair, the one who runs her fingers through long, luscious locks until every tangle is gone and twisted back again. She’s the one who lays waste to each mask of make-up Regina wears -- sweat and smudged lines and lips that blur the red into bleeding. She’s the one who undoes every lace of a corset, the one who pulls apart leather and cups eagerly at each breast, the one whose fingers trail up underneath skirts to chase Regina’s secrets.

(Belle is not the only one.)

But it’s nights like these -- with the Dark One on a visit to another realm with the man with the absurdly large hat -- that Belle finds the secrets beneath Regina’s armor she isn’t meant to see. Her fingers fumble upon finding the marks upon Regina’s skin: a smattering of purple and blue and brown along her hips and thighs; a blister on her palm where her skin had been burnt; a fresh red around the scar on her lip that not even her lipstick can hide. Belle _knows_ where each of these comes from -- it’s been three years, after all -- but every litany of protest is silenced before it can even slip past her lips. Regina is good at that; she knows Belle’s body well, too, knows exactly where and how to place her lips and fingers that will drive Belle to distraction. And even when those distractions are not enough to quell Belle’s concerns, Regina has nearly perfected the art of crafting counter arguments to the sound of soothing words.

Nearly.

Tonight, though. Tonight, Belle is _determined_ to see her plan through. They’ve got time -- another few hours, at the very least -- and she plans to use that to her advantage. Sex and sleep have made Regina far less guarded, to be sure, but Belle knows that it will take more in order to have her voice be heard -- to have Regina _listen_. So it’s with a delicate touch that Belle curls in a little closer, fur of the rug they’re lying on tickling at her skin as she moves. Delicately, she dances her fingertips across Regina’s chest, traces the outline of one breast and then the other before letting her lips hover near Regina’s ear. “Regina,” she murmurs, soft and low. Regina’s breathing changes a bit, grows more shallow the nearer she draws to waking, but her eyes stay closed, and she does not answer. “Regina,” Belle tries again, dragging a slow, wet kiss down the angular curve of Regina’s jaw. “Wake up.”

A sharp inhale followed by a groan greets her, and though Regina’s eyes remain closed, she angles her head away a little, allowing Belle better access to her neck. “‘s he back already?” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Belle shakes her head, nosing along Regina’s neck. “We have time,” she promises, breath hot and heavy against Regina’s neck as she fights the urge to wrap a leg around Regina’s. It’s _easy_ to get lost in this, to let the ache between her legs guide her into bliss, but pleasure is not her goal -- not for herself, anyway. Belle would hardly call herself a seductress -- she has neither the experience nor the temperament for it -- but she knows how to play these games, too, has learned them right alongside Regina as they’ve stumbled and staggered their way through this… whatever this is. Tonight is merely a matter of making sure Regina doesn’t realize she’s using them. “The fire’s gone dim, though,” Belle adds, almost an afterthought, “if you’d care to do something about that?”

The corner of Regina’s mouth quirks up into an almost smile, nose wrinkling in what Belle is sure is bemusement, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a twisting pout and a frown and those awful worried wrinkles. Slowly, Regina props herself up on her elbows, eyes blinking open blearily as she tries to orient herself to the way the light’s shifted in the last hour. For a brief moment, there is nothing at all guarded in her eyes, light catching her irises in a way that takes Belle’s breath away. But that too is gone in an instant, replaced with the singular, narrowed darkness that Belle has had the misfortune of becoming accustomed to; Regina stares long and hard at the palm of her hand for a moment, concentrating (pulling, Belle’s mind supplies, at threads of anger and darkness to call her magic forth) until fire flares up, flickers, and fades.

Regina _tsk_ s in annoyance, shifting a little so that Belle is forced to pull away, and she is very much not looking Belle in the eye as she tries to produce the little ball of fire again. It takes longer this time, Belle notices, like Regina’s unprepared or distracted. Conjuring magic on her own, without the help of books or objects or potions, has always been more difficult for Regina, but it takes Belle a moment longer than she’s really proud of to realize that she’s probably not helping all that much by watching.

Whether Regina will admit it or not, Belle knows that she is -- outside of Regina’s father -- a lone source of light, and, well.

Regina has not learned of magic in that way, and in her ache, Belle manages to look away.

When the flame in Regina’s hand finally flickers and flares steadily in her hand, she tosses it over their bodies with less grace than she normally would into the hearth of the library, fueling their fire once more. She settles all the way back down with a huff, muscles relaxing again (a little, anyway, not all the way) as she runs a hand through the mess her hair’s become. “I’m sorry,” Belle murmurs, not quite able to look her in the eye again just yet. “I wasn’t -- I didn’t think about --”

“It’s fine,” Regina mumbles back, still sounding tired.

Belle shakes her head. “It’s not,” she argues. “It was thoughtless. I just -- I wanted you to be comfortable and I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. I should’ve just done it myself or fetched another blanket or --”

“ _Belle_ ,” Regina says firmly, fatigue fading from her voice. She reaches out a hand to tilt Belle’s chin toward her and force eye contact. “It’s fine, I promise. You caught me a little off guard, is all. And, well.” She pauses here, lips finally twisting into that bemused smile she’d denied herself earlier as she moves her hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Belle’s ear. “You did wear me out earlier.”

Belle just barely refrains from rolling her eyes and instead levels Regina with a look. “You wore yourself out,” she argues, the memory of Regina grinding against her thigh in earnest earlier still fresh upon Belle’s skin. Regina is the one to roll her eyes, but the bemused little smile she wears doesn’t go away, and Belle wonders, for a moment, if maybe she should seize this opportunity rather than manufacture one of her own. “But,” she ventures, dropping a kiss to Regina’s palm before she moves in close again, “if you’d _like_ for me to wear you out, I suppose that can be arranged.”

She’s slow, delicate and deliberate in the way she dances her fingertips across Regina’s skin again. She presses her body against Regina’s side and traces a path down and around the curve of Regina’s breast, avoiding coming too close. Down and around, knuckles skimming and bumping along Regina’s side. Down and in, a gentle graze between Regina’s thighs that has Regina inhaling sharply, smile faltering at last as arousal blossoms in her irises. Regina doesn’t arch her hips up toward Belle’s hand but it’s a near thing; Belle can tell by the way Regina bites her lip in anticipation. And still, Belle doesn’t touch where she knows Regina wants her (where they both want her, if Belle’s being honest with herself), but it’s tempting here, lingering in the warmth of Regina’s heat. Slowly, Regina traces her thumb down Belle’s cheek and over her bottom lip where Belle’s sure her own lipstick has been smudged into fading. Belle’s breath catches a little, lungs burning with it as pleasure pulses between her legs, and still, she does not move. “We have time?” Regina asks airily, and with the words stuck in her throat, Belle finds that she can only nod her confirmation.

That’s all it takes.

Regina’s hand curls around to the back of Belle’s neck lightning-fast, gripping hard and pulling her down roughly to claim her lips in a bruising kiss. It’s enough to startle the air from Belle’s lungs as she finally allows herself to hook a leg over Regina’s, hand fumbling blindly in desperate search of an anchor. She grips Regina’s hip tight, breaks the kiss and dives back in for another as Regina’s hands sink into her hair and tangle tight, the gentle tug and pull against Belle’s scalp sending a spark of pleasure down her spine. She jolts her hips against Regina’s thigh, just once, but the slick wetness she leaves behind is enough to have Regina grinning into the kiss. And alright, that’s Belle’s fault, but she won’t allow Regina to claim the distraction for her own. Quickly, she skims her hand up along Regina’s sides to cup a breast, a counter-measure to the way Regina starts to pull away from the kiss, and all it takes is a swipe of thumb across Regina’s nipple for the quip Belle _knows_ was coming to break open into a grateful groan instead. “Eager,” Regina remarks breathlessly, relaxing her grip in Belle’s hair. “Are you sure we have enough time?”

“Do I ever have an exact answer to that question?” Belle retorts, muffling the laugh that bubbles up out of Regina with another kiss. “I’m making good use of the time that we’ve got, is all.”

“In that case,” Regina murmurs, bumping her hips up so her sex makes the briefest of contact with Belle’s thigh, “I’m all yours.”

It’s Belle who smiles into the next kiss this time, unabashedly bright in the way she basks in Regina’s affection. Regina pulls her closer, trails the fingers of her free hand along the angled lines of Belle’s shoulder blade, down and around to grope gently at one of Belle’s breasts. She arches into the touch shamelessly, squeezes Regina’s breast a little harder in response, but as _much_ as Belle is enjoying the attention, this is not about her -- not this time. She’d had her fill of Regina earlier, had delighted in the rough, ragged way Regina had toyed with her, fingers bringing her to a precipice and then edging, edging, edging before she’d taken her mouth to Belle’s neck and finally let her come. This time, it’s not so much about Belle returning the favor as it is driving Regina to distraction. Knowing she’s the only one to bring Regina this kind of pleasure is just an added benefit.

And while study may have helped her get things started in the beginning, books have nothing on the intimate knowledge Belle has of Regina’s body now.

Not all of the last three years have been bad.

Regardless of how much time they have, Belle wants to make this quick, wants to bring Regina up and over to the point where her mind grows fuzzy for a while. It’s a little mean, she supposes, and maybe more than manipulative, but at the very least Belle can count on the fact that both of them _want_ this -- want each other. And even if Belle’s plan goes awry, there is nothing much to _lose_ from pursuing this. So she presses her lips against Regina’s rather insistently, slips her tongue into Regina’s mouth and trails her fingers back down once more, finally dipping into to gather up the slickness of Regina’s sex. She’s wetter than expected, must still have been somewhat slick from before, and Regina hums pleasantly into her mouth, arching up a little into her touch as her hand skims along the span of Belle’s ribs.

God, Belle wants her.

She tries to take it at least a little slow at first, drags her fingers up and down the outer folds of Regina’s sex in an attempt to help build her arousal, but Regina apparently doesn’t need all that much foreplay. She’s still keyed up from earlier, that much is obvious to Belle in the way Regina deepens the kiss and rocks her hips against Belle’s hand in earnest. She’s almost shameless in it, really, and it occurs to Belle then that perhaps she is not alone in wanting to drive Regina to distraction.

Encouraged, Belle breaks the kiss without finesse, leans back in only to nip Regina’s bottom lip with her teeth. Regina’s answering exhale is heavy and broken, her eyes dark, face flushed with arousal, and the way her legs tighten around Belle’s hand when she sucks a hot kiss (not a mark, never a mark) against Regina’s neck tells Belle that the change of pace is appreciated. She ignores the desperate, pulsing ache between her thighs, does not shift against Regina’s leg to gain friction for her clit. Instead, Belle focuses her attention on peppering kisses across Regina’s collarbone and down between her breasts, tongue darting over and out to tease at one nipple, then the other. Regina’s breathing grows more shallow with each passing moment, fingers falling from Belle’s hair as she moves down and trails hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along Regina’s stomach and noses along her hipbone.

It’s not until Belle’s shifted and settled between Regina’s legs, face tantalizingly close to where her fingers have slowed to a gentle, lazy drag through Regina’s folds that Belle deigns to glance up at her again. Regina finally finds use for her hands again -- at least temporarily -- as she shifts a little on the rug and reaches for the pillows behind her, rearranging them to prop herself up a little better. Belle hides her grin against Regina’s thigh; she knows how much Regina likes to watch, but it’s usually reserved for watching _her_ while Regina sets to work. It’s not often that Regina’s studious gaze gets extended to this, but it’s less exploratory than before, less hesitant and seeking. There’s something softer in the way Regina looks at her when she settles back down, something hungry and warm and altogether _reverent_ , and Belle’s smile reaches all the way up to her eyes.

She barely gives Regina time to settle before she’s curling her hands around Regina’s thighs to give herself an anchor, head dipping down so she can lick a stripe up from Regina’s center to her clit. Regina huffs out in surprise, hips bucking up just a little, and her hand comes to rest over her stomach as she adjusts her neck against the pillows to look down at Belle properly again. “Give a woman warning next time, would you?” she teases breathlessly.

Belle merely _hmm_ s against her sex, licks another stripe down and then back up, dotting a gentle kiss to Regina’s clit. “Making the most of our time,” she murmurs against Regina’s skin.

Regina barely bites back a choked-off groan as Belle moves down to Regina’s center and dips her tongue inside. “Is this some sort of payback for earlier?” Regina pries, breath coming out short and uneven. Out of the corner of her eye, Belle can see the way the fingers of Regina’s free hand start to thread through the fur of the rug, flexing and grasping for purchase. “I dragged things out for you, so you’re making this quick for me?”

Belle pauses, withdraws her tongue briefly and flicks her eyes back up to meet Regina’s. “Not really my style,” she quips, hoping to all that is good in this world that Regina takes it as the teasing Belle means it as. The last thing she needs is for Regina to be reminded of revenge right now. She presses kisses along the inside of Regina’s thigh again, a distraction from the way she covertly moves one hand back down to Regina’s sex. She feels a surge of pride at the way Regina gasps and squirms when Belle slips two fingers inside, but she brushes it aside in favor of answering at least a little honestly. “I want to make you come.”

A soft laugh bubbles out of Regina, tapering off as Belle begins to move her fingers, the drag of the push-pull-curl prompting a soft groan out of Regina. “You are far too blunt to be a tease,” Regina allows, toes curling a little into Belle’s side. “Your mouth is what gets you into trouble sometimes.”

Belle wrinkles her nose a little, indignant. “So does yours,” she argues, and then she halts, hesitates with her lips hovering over Regina’s clit. Her urgency is making her careless with her words, but she can still do this, can still salvage the moment. So she schools her features into something more playful and coy as she looks up at Regina one last time, dropping her voice a little lower. “Shall we see if this,” she murmurs, licking hard and quick over Regina’s clit and relishing in the way Regina gasps and jolts against her, “gets me into trouble?”

“Only if we get caught,” Regina throws back, and fuck, the weight of Belle’s remarks haven’t gone as unnoticed as she’d been hoping. She inhales sharply and sucks hard at Regina’s clit, taking a second to regroup, but Regina is _with her_ , every bit on board with the distraction from such things as Belle wants her to be. “And only,” Regina sighs, muscles tensing and relaxing under Belle’s touch, “if you _stop_.”

And finally, blissfully, Belle seizes the opportunity and dives in deep, determined. She’s slower with her fingers for a few moments longer, just to be sure, and shifts her focus to bringing Regina pleasure with her mouth. She circles the point of her tongue up and around the edges of Regina’s clit in a quick quell before moving lower. Her tongue meets the place her fingers have slipped inside and she starts there, flattens her tongue and licks up, applying pressure broad and firm. Again, and again, and each pass surpasses the rhythm of her fingers, stops just shy of Regina’s clit before dipping back down. It’s a method that Belle _knows_ works well to bring Regina rapidly to the edge, and she’s not disappointed in the choice now.

Regina’s hand is fidgeting anxiously in the rug, threading and fisting and twisting with each build and ebb and flow of pleasure. She’s moved her other hand away from her stomach -- up to her breast, Belle thinks, though it’s hard to tell entirely from this angle -- and is gently rocking her hips up to match the rhythm of Belle’s tongue. She’s _gorgeous_ like this, firelight dancing across her skin and casting shadows in a way that highlight her features: the smooth plane of her stomach and the curve of her hips; the fullness of her breasts and the length of her neck; the striking shape of her jaw and the bright light in her eyes that still no one has managed to extinguish.

It’s not long -- a few moments, perhaps -- before Regina’s soft moans and gasps break open into something louder, longer and more desperate as her breathing quickens even further. Belle alters course a little, adds a pass over Regina’s clit to the path her tongue takes, center to top, and she picks up the pace of her fingers just enough to match. Regina’s body responds in kind, walls of her sex fluttering in anticipation around Belle’s fingers, and the darkness in Regina’s eyes has basis in _nothing_ but sheer and utter _want_.

It gives Belle the boost of confidence she needs.

She wants to draw her mouth away to speak, wants to murmur _come for me_ against Regina’s skin, but Belle will not run the risk of detracting from distraction, not when Regina’s attention is already caught and focused, arousal pulled taut like a string. So Belle doubles down, picks up the pace of both her fingers and her tongue, and she’s rewarded with the way Regina’s thighs start to tremble and quake around her. The hand on Regina’s breast moves up to grip the pillow behind her tight, her chest heaving a little as she tries to catch her breath. “ _Belle_ ,” she breathes, a reverent whisper, and Belle takes it as the cue they both need, curls her fingers up and in until -- “ _There_ ,” Regina gasps, sex tightening a little more around Belle’s fingers to keep in her in place. “That’s -- _oh_!”

Belle fights back a satisfied smile as she shifts the attention of her tongue, keeping up the broad, flat, firm strokes from before and centers them directly onto Regina’s clit. That’s the point of no return -- the thing that tells her Regina is just on the precipice of coming -- and every answering call of Regina’s body only serves to prove her right. Regina bites her lip, strangled whimper caught in the back of her throat as her hips pivot up in earnest now, seeking constant friction. _Belle_ falls from her lips again, breathy and desperate, and it takes every bit of self-control Belle has not to squirm or seek out friction to ease the way her sex aches between her thighs. This is about Regina, beginning to end, and for all that Regina has offered herself up freely, Belle is still just shy of having her.

She picks up the pace, moves her fingers a little harder, a little faster, Regina’s sex squeezing tighter and tighter around her fingers, and any traces of suppression or shame on Regina’s part are now _gone_. A litany of pleasure tumbles forth from Regina’s mouth as her hips rock up and her thighs tremble, knuckles turning white as she grips the rug beneath them tight. “So good,” she gasps. “So good, so close, I’m gonna -- just there, _yes_ ,” she groans, nearly crying out as Belle abruptly shifts and encloses her lips around Regina’s clit, sucking hard and fast. Belle sucks at Regina’s clit in rapid succession -- one, two, three, four, five -- and hardly has time to draw breath before -- “ _Fuck_ \-- Belle!” Regina throws her head back and comes with a shout, back arching up off of the floor as she forces her sex impossibly closer to Belle’s mouth. The hand gripping the rug releases, flails out and collides with a nearby stack of books and sends them tumbling and cascading to the floor, the resounding _thud_ echoing loudly in the chasm of the library hall.

Belle guides her through it, slows her down and lowers her back to the floor, fighting back a smile at the sight of the scattered books in the corner. She lets her lips fall away first to give Regina a reprieve, grazing lazy, soft kisses to Regina’s thigh and belly in an effort to help her come down. She watches as Regina’s body goes lax against the rug again, grip on the pillow slackening so she can run a hand through her hair as she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes are closed, thankfully, clearly still riding the residuals of her high, so Belle turns her attention to Regina’s sex, waiting for the muscles of her walls to relax enough for Belle to slip her fingers out.

It takes a moment, maybe two, for Belle to feel comfortable enough to remove her fingers without causing Regina any discomfort or pain, but she tries not to linger too long, knows her window of opportunity is rapidly narrowing. Regina registers the withdrawal with a small _hmm_ , but she doesn’t wince or hiss in pain, so it’s with all the care in the world that Belle gently settles Regina’s legs all the way down and shifts over to her side, toes dragging along Regina’s calf to keep her close. Regina’s fingers meet hers halfway across her abdomen, twining together loosely, but still she keeps her eyes closed, clearly basking in the afterglow. Belle reaches up her free hand to gently brush away some of the hair from Regina’s face, her heart skipping a beat at the way a smile ghosts its way onto Regina’s lips.

Regina like this, Belle thinks, may be better than Regina in sleep.

This is the Regina she hopes to keep.

“You know,” Belle murmurs, leaning in a little closer to Regina’s ear, “you don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Regina mumbles, clearly deliberating whether or not she wants to let sleep claim her again.

“Coming back to him,” Belle says quietly, “to learn magic.”

Regina groans and pulls away just enough to break the more intimate points of contact between them. “Unfair,” she protests, just shy of whining.

“I’m just saying --”

“We’ve had this argument a hundred times over,” Regina sighs, but she doesn’t pull away anymore. “I’ve told you, he was the one who offered. I was the one who made the choice to accept the lessons.”

“But they’re not lessons,” Belle argues, ignoring the way Regina sighs and rolls her eyes. “They’re _not_. He’s _training_ you for something --” The rest of the argument gets caught in her chest as Regina suddenly shifts out from under her and reaches for the pile of discarded clothes. It’s Belle’s turn to let out an annoyed _tsk_ , but she follows suit, reaches for her undergarments and her blouse while Regina reaches for her tunic. It’s an attempt at a distraction, something to keep them busy and to prevent Belle from pursuing her argument, but she will not be so easily deterred -- not tonight. “You and I both know there is more to magic than what he teaches you,” she grumbles, glancing over at the stack of scattered books as she does up the buttons on her blouse and Regina ties up her tunic. “Magic isn’t necessarily inherently light or dark, Regina. There’s proof enough of that even within these walls. But whatever it is he’s training you for, whatever it is he wants you to do, it isn’t good -- it’s _dark_. And you’re better than that --”

“I’m seeking revenge against a child,” Regina snaps, glancing darkly back over her shoulder at Belle. “How is that _better_?”

Belle softens a little around the edges, but the admission doesn’t weaken her resolve; it fuels the fire in her belly, pushes her forward where before she would’ve hedged or backed off. This is the farthest she’s gotten into this conversation with Regina in a long time; Belle won’t give up so easily now. “You can be,” she insists, gentle but firm. “You _are_. The difference in the way he sees you tells me that. You think of yourself as a student, Regina, but he doesn’t. He sees you as -- as some sort of _soldier_ , like he’s giving you weapons to win a war for him.” The anger in the lines of Regina’s face fracture a little, and she looks down and away before Belle can see them break. But Belle just shifts closer to her again, lays a hand on top of Regina’s where it’s pressed flat against the floor and rests her chin on Regina’s shoulder. “You know what he calls you,” Belle murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. Regina closes her eyes and swallows audibly, hand tensing under Belle’s touch, and this -- this is _pain_ Belle knows well. But it’s pain she -- they have to push through all the same if they’re going to get anywhere, and a little pain now, she thinks, may mean it’s the last for a long while. “I overheard him, I told you, I overheard him in the forest that day talking to the man with the hat --”

“Jefferson,” Regina supplies, sounding tired.

“-- and that odd doctor who tried to resurrect --”

“ _Don’t_ \--”

“He calls you his _monster_ ,” Belle grits out, and there is anger in her now, too.

“And what if I am?” Regina bites back, snatching her hand out from under Belle’s grasp and curling away from her. Belle starts a little, but there’s a fierce determination in Regina’s eyes as she meets Belle’s gaze resolutely, an unspoken challenge in her irises. “What if I am a monster? What if that anger is… all I have?” Her voice loses its edge at the end, tapers off into something quiet and breaking, and Belle meets the challenge with breaking of her own.

Belle cannot ask Regina to lay her heart bare for bleeding if she does not do the same.

“You’re not,” Belle promises, soft and clear. She shifts across the rug once more, curls in close and takes Regina’s head in her hands, thumbs running up over the apples of her cheeks where Belle knows tears might eventually land. “You are not a monster. You are _so much more_ than your anger,” she breathes, but there is doubt in Regina’s eyes, a plea for reassurance that Belle knows she will not voice aloud. “There is still good in you. You have such a thirst for knowledge, for learning how things work, it still tears you apart inside every time he makes you take a life -- you’re these things too, Regina. You’re your _brilliant_ mind and your caring heart --” Regina inhales sharply at that, pulls out of Belle’s grasp just enough to tuck her chin against her chest. This too is familiar to Belle, the way darkness has left its mark on her lover, and she knows all too well the ways in which Regina thinks she is not _enough_. Belle reaches for her hand again instead, ducking her head to try and get Regina to meet her eyes. “You have your father,” Belle tries, desperate to remind Regina that she is not alone in this. “You have -- you have _me_ \--”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Regina interjects sharply, snapping her head up to look Belle dead in the eyes. She’s breathing hard, jaw set as she stares Belle down, but where Regina pushes people away in her anger, Belle can only break open in her ache. And it shows -- it must show on her face, because Regina is pulling away much more quickly than before, snatching her skirt off of the floor and rising to her feet to put it on. “Don’t do that,” she warns, tucking her tunic into the waistband of her skirt. “You promised me that you wouldn’t --”

“Wouldn’t what?” Belle prompts, exhausted and too far gone to care about staying within the usual boundaries of their arguments. “Wouldn’t fall in love with you?” Regina spins around sharply at that, eyes flaring dangerously, but Belle is not a rose, ready to wither before a flame. She’s sure she looks a sight right now -- make-up smudged and hair a mess, only wearing her blouse -- but she leans into the warmth of the fire behind her, shoulders relaxed and hands folded primly in her lap. If Regina is daring her to cross this line first, Belle will do it with both tears in her eyes and affection in her smile. “Too late.”

All of the air leaves Regina’s lungs at once -- like she wasn’t expecting Belle to go this far -- and just like that, the fight is _gone_. There are no traces of darkness left in her eyes, no hard lines to her face. Her breathing alters, shallow and uneven as her chin trembles, and for one brief second, Belle thinks she sees traces of gratitude in Regina’s eyes. It’s gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced with something more careful and guarded, but even in that, Belle can see the walls crumbling down. She gives Regina a moment to occupy that space, reaches for her dress and rises to her feet herself to slip it on. Regina reaches for her vest, fumbles with it for a moment as she struggles to put it on, and even though Belle can’t see the wetness in her eyes, she can still hear it in Regina’s voice. “You know,” Regina scoffs, voice shaking just a little, “if this is some sort of underhanded attempt to try and keep me from coming back here, that’s a new low, especially for you.”

Belle sighs quietly, ache weighing down her chest, and she abandons doing up the laces on the bodice of her dress in favor of closing the distance between them again. Regina resolutely does not look at her as she approaches, making a noise of disapproval as she tries to straighten out her vest and untangle her hair from the collar. Belle’s hands hover nearby, hesitating as she seeks silent permission to help, and after a moment Regina gives in with a huff, holding her arms out just enough to give Belle room to work. Belle twists the vest a little until it sits right on Regina’s torso before reaching back to help tug her hair out from where it’s gotten caught under the leather. Regina’s breathing comes down to even as Belle toys with her locks for a moment before she brings her hands to rest. It’s only when Belle’s hands find anchor upon Regina’s body -- a hand curled around the back of Regina’s neck, a palm over Regina’s beating heart -- that Regina finally deigns to look at her again, and this time every single glance and tic and mannerism Regina normally uses in employing her defense has been promptly shattered into pieces.

“We both know it’s not,” Belle says quietly, and the tears that have been welling in Regina’s eyes finally brim up and over and fall. Belle exhales, shallow and shaky and uneven, and she closes the rest of the gap between them, lips pressed gently against Regina’s temple. Regina’s hands find Belle’s waist and settle, but it’s enough to give Belle the courage she needs to keep going. “But I don’t want you to do this for me,” she whispers into Regina’s skin. “I want you to do it for you.”

She pulls back just enough to get Regina to meet her eyes, and this time when Belle cups her face in her hands, she uses her thumbs to wipe away the tears that have stained Regina’s cheeks. “You have spent your whole life trying to be the person you are, not the person your mother wanted you to be,” she reasons. “How is this -- how is what he’s trying to do to you any different?” And that -- that _is_ a little low, Belle knows, bringing up Regina’s mother, but even where Regina takes it to heart, she doesn’t throw her walls back up. She closes her eyes and leans into Belle’s touch a little more, lips pressed delicately against the skin of her palm. The exhale that follows is tinged with a hint of exasperation, but mostly she just sounds _tired_ \-- tired of arguing, tired of being manipulated, tired of being angry, tired of hurting. And Belle -- she takes that trust and _runs with it_. “It’s not your life if you’re not the one making the choices about how to live it, darling. No one can decide your fate but you.”

Regina tenses a bit under her touch, and where there is desperation in her eyes when she opens them again, there is also resignation. “Tell that to my husband,” she says, voice sounding scratchy and raw.

That is another battle entirely, one Belle is not equipped to fight at the moment. She needs to keep Regina’s focus on the issue at hand. A win against the Dark One, she figures, is more than half the war won. “He’s another problem for another day,” Belle dismisses, not unkindly. She quirks a small smile at Regina, aiming to bring a little levity to the conversation. “Our biggest problem right now is --”

Downstairs, the doors to the front hall slam shut, and for a half a moment, they can do nothing but stare at the staircase in silence.

Regina is the one to break it. “I thought you said we had time,” she whispers, and there’s a slight edge to her voice, like she wants to be angry, but mostly she just sounds scared.

“I thought we did,” Belle breathes, turning back to look at her. “He’s not supposed to be back for hours, he said --” She stops, tries to draw breath and comes up short, eyes glancing around the room in earnest. “Everything’s a mess, we need to clean up, we need --”

“Here,” Regina instructs, taking Belle by the hand and moving back toward the fireplace. She leans down and reaches for the pillows first, plumps them back into shape before tossing them in the generally direction of the armchair. It’s only when Regina forces the blanket into Belle’s hand that the breath returns to her lungs, and she hurries to match Regina’s pace, folding the blanket as carefully and quickly as she can and laying it to rest with the pillows on the armchair.

Regina’s moved onto cinching up her vest and looping her large belt through the buckle to keep things in place. Here too, Belle follows her lead, struggling to get her wits about her as Rumplestiltskin’s footsteps echo in the great chasms of halls of the castle, each growing louder by the second. She tries not to overthink it as she does up the laces of her bodice, tries not to dwell on how lucky they are that he’d actually _walked through the front door_ and what it might mean if he hadn’t --

She spies her discarded ribbon on one of the end tables and snatches it up quickly, sweeping her hair to the side and tying it off into a ponytail. It’s not at all smooth or delicate like it normally would be if she’d had time to pull herself together properly, but it’ll do, and of the two of them, Regina’s hair is in much more of a _state_ than Belle’s is right now. Regina’s anxiety is _high_ \-- that much is evident by the way she combs her fingers through her hair to try and force out the tangles and smooth out the ends. Her eyes keep darting to the staircase as she tries to make something presentable of herself, chest heaving with increasingly shallow breaths as the footsteps draw nearer --

“Here,” Belle offers, setting Regina’s stockings and boots down in front of her. Regina reaches for them with surprising speed and ease, murmurs a _thank you_ and follows Belle’s lead. Belle reaches for the set of hair pins they’d set aside after letting Regina’s hair down earlier and quickly reaches for a few locks of hair. They don’t have time for brushes or braid or curls or ornate updos, but a little hair out of Regina’s face will go a long way with Rumplestiltskin, she thinks. It might keep him at bay, at any rate.

“Belle!”

They both gasp sharply in surprise at the sound of his voice growing nearer, halting their movements for a second or two, but it’s Regina who starts rather violently in her chair, hands shaking. “Nearly there,” Belle murmurs encouragingly, tapping Regina’s shoulder before resuming pinning the top half of her hair back. “In the library!” she calls out to him, not wanting to arouse suspicion, and it’s that which spurs Regina back into movement, finishing up the buckles of her boots. Her work done, Belle glances around wildly for a few second before she finds her own shoes discarded a few feet away, and this time it’s her whose hands are shaking as she slips them on and fumbles with the buckles.

Regina’s in front of Belle when she straightens up again, her face looking remarkably fresh for someone who’d engaged in such thorough debauchery not moments before. She holds out a small, gold tube in offering and Belle takes it without question or thought, twisting the lipstick open. “We’ll match,” Belle murmurs, hesitating for the briefest of moments.

“He won’t notice,” Regina assures her, and alright, that’s probably true enough, Belle supposes. His keen and observing eye is usually reserved for far more important things. She draws in a breath to steady herself, lipstick poised between her fingers, but Regina grabs hold of her wrist before she has a chance to apply. “Wait.”

“What?” Belle asks, fervent and quick. “We don’t have time for --”

And then Regina kisses her, hard and then soft and slow, and it takes _everything_ Belle has not to keep her for her own.

It’s simple, short -- they don’t have time for anything else -- but they’re both still a bit breathless when Regina pulls away. She releases Belle’s wrist, reaches out a hand and thumbs her way across Belle’s bottom lip where Belle is sure Regina has left her mark, and the look in her eyes before she moves away could not be more plain.

 _Please, forgive me_.

As much as Belle wants to dwell on it, they really _are_ out of time -- Rumplestiltskin’s footsteps are on the stairs -- so she forces the swell of affection down and buries it deep, hurrying over to the stack of scattered books to finish cleaning up. She’s quick to swivel lipstick on before pocketing it into the skirt of her dress, and she barely has time for one half-glance over her shoulder to see Regina settled into one of the chairs at the table with a book in her hands before Rumplestiltskin comes into view. Belle turns sharply back toward the books on the floor and reaches for one, ready to stack them neat.

She is, after all, a maid.

The footsteps come to a halt. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Belle swallows thickly but continues stacking the books Regina had knocked over earlier; she does not dare turn around. Regina, for her part, sounds remarkably composed considering how rattled she was a moment ago. “I came for a lesson,” she announces primly, almost sounding a little bored. “Belle said you’d gone to -- what was it, dear, Oz?”

Belle’s hand hover just out of reach of the next book as she steals a side-glance in their direction. “Yes, Oz,” she agrees faintly, clearing her throat a little. “But, uh, I didn’t think you’d be back for hours, did something --”

“How in the world did you get here?” he asks Regina, speaking over Belle to the point of ignoring her entirely. “You look as though you traveled through a thicket.”

Belle looks away sharply, breath catching in her chest. _Damn it_.

Regina rises to the bait but not in the way Belle expects. “Why does it matter to you how I look?” she argues, and she’d almost sound indignant if she hadn’t obliterated any trace of civility left in her tone.

Rumplestiltskin is quiet for a long, long moment, and Belle forces herself to reach for another book, unable to keep her hands from shaking. “It doesn’t,” he sighs finally, honestly sounding a little tired. “My trip was not as… fruitful as I’d have liked. I’m afraid I’m not in a particularly kind mood, dearie.”

“Well take it out on someone more deserving,” Regina snaps coldly, and the accompanying _thud_ tells Belle she’s tossed her book on the table. “You won’t find anyone here.” And in spite of her better judgement, Belle smiles, her hands stilling as she grasps another book.

She really could not be more in love with Regina if she tried.

But the air in the room has thickened considerably with Regina’s last remark, the tense silence palpable even as Belle tries to keep her attention focused on the rest of the books. “We didn’t have a lesson scheduled,” Rumplestiltskin counters, finally catching the lie, and Belle’s hand nearly fumbles as she reaches for the next book.

But Regina, bless her, is still managing to be unfazed by the constant scrutiny. Belle supposes she has her mother to thank for that. “Leopold’s away,” she dismisses, voice shifting into something a little more melancholic at the mere mention of her husband’s name. And that, at least, is a truth; it’s why she’d taken advantage of Rumplestiltskin’s absence in the first place. “Some business with George or Midas or one of the other useless kings, I don’t remember. He took his little brat with him.” Belle straightens up the stack and lifts it into her arms, barely suppressing an exasperated sigh at the dig at Snow White’s expense. “I wanted to make the most of the time I had,” Regina reasons, and there’s a hint of pride in her voice at that, one that Belle would ordinarily associate with seeking approval. Given their earlier conversation, though, she recognizes it for what it is and ducks to hide her smile behind the books.

Even though Regina isn’t seeking it, Rumplestiltskin still _hmm_ s in approval. “I do rather admire your diligence, dearie,” he sighs, but he sounds… off again, tired and annoyed and much like he’d really rather be left alone. “But I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for a practical lesson at the moment.”

Slowly, Belle begins to shelf the books she’s collected, worrying her lip between her teeth, but she needn’t worry, in the end: Regina is more of a match for the Dark One than Belle thinks anyone might expect of her. “Fine by me,” Regina says simply, clearly aiming to sound amenable. “I’ve kept myself content with books all afternoon. A few more would suit me just fine.”

There’s something heavy in the air in the waiting, making Belle’s every move a little too slow and sluggish for her liking at the moment, and this time she’s the one who starts at the sound of his voice. “Belle,” he says sharply. “Make yourself useful and fetch us something to eat.”

Belle’s grip tightens on the last book in her hands, but she takes a breath -- in, out, another -- before shelving it and turning to look at him properly at last. “ _Please_ wouldn’t hurt,” she retorts, and _oh_ where did _that_ come from?

Out of the corner of her eye, though, she sees Regina bite back a grin behind Rumplestiltskin’s back.

Rumplestiltskin, for his part, works his jaw in irritation, but he’s too distracted, Belle thinks, for any real malice toward her to form. “ _Please_ ,” he grits out, devoid of any touch of sincerity. “And something strong to drink, while you’re at it.”

Belle squares her shoulders a little and smooths out the front of her dress. “Any other requests?” she asks primly, her tone making it clear that she’s in no mood for his cross words or vile temper tonight.

He narrows his eyes at her, clearly trying to discern what the hell has gotten into her tonight ( _Regina_ , the back of her mind supplies, and the thought is so uncharacteristic of her and ill-timed that she actively has to bite back a laugh). He doesn’t speak, though, merely glances over at Regina with raised eyebrows in silent question, and it takes Belle a moment to realize that he’s asking her if she wants anything. It’s far more considerate than Belle would ever expect of him, and Regina, for her part, has the decency to look both a little flattered and somewhat exasperated that it’s taken him this long to be courteous toward her. But Regina just meets her eyes briefly and shakes her head, a non-verbal _no, thank you_ , and Belle makes a show of curtseying in response. “As you wish.”

She hears him heave a great sigh as she brushes past him, clearly exasperated at having been met with such insubordination upon his arrival, but his attention is back on Regina almost immediately, his tone shifting as he begins to discuss some sort of lesson plan. Belle hears bits and pieces of it on her way toward the stairs: he’s opting for translations today in preparation for more difficult spells and curses and potions -- advanced elvish, which sounds _fascinating_ and is enough to make Belle want to linger, but now is not the time to take any more risks.

She pauses halfway down the stairs and glances back up briefly to find Regina watching her leave as Rumplestiltskin rifles through the shelves for the book he’s looking for. And it’s not -- it’s not as though Regina doesn’t look at her or acknowledge her at all when the Dark One is around, but there is something altogether _striking_ in the way Regina’s gaze finds her own now. For once, there is nothing at all careful and guarded in Regina’s eyes, and instead Belle only finds the same sort of warm reverence Regina bestows upon her when they’re alone.

And then Regina smiles at her, and Belle’s heart skips a beat in her chest.

Regina is different now, too.

Belle fights a smile as she makes her way down the rest of the stairs, and for the first time in three years, she thinks she can see hope on the horizon.


End file.
